


The Bather

by QueenoftheHobbits



Series: Soft Thighs Series [99]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bathing, F/M, Nudity, a really good piece of art google it if you dont mind nudity, based off of a piece of art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 20:44:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15614631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenoftheHobbits/pseuds/QueenoftheHobbits
Summary: Requested by @artfuck:  hello, i Love your soft thighs series and i was wondering if you would to an imagine based off the bather by Jason Rainville ( a painting) the warrior woman bathing in the river during a mission and Bucky catches her in he river and she is all embarrassed about her body and you can decide how it ends. that would be so awesome.





	The Bather

Missions were...dirty. Mud, dust, bits of tree, insects, blood. If it could stick to you it did and while being stuck in the woods of Wyoming didn’t offer you or Bucky much in the way of comfort you at least had managed to find a river. You’d left Bucky to finding fire wood and setting up your little camp for the night, why a group of bad guys decided to hang out in Wyoming you didn’t know, but you both had to make the most of what you had. 

The water was cold, a chill on your skin, but there wasn’t much you could do about that and you were more than happy to deal with the cold. Especially as it cleaned the dirt and muck from your skin. You were also glad for the seclusion, it meant strangers or random people wouldn’t stumble upon your bathing. You were a good fighter, a ‘hero’, but you also didn’t fit the mode of what a heroine was supposed to look like. 

You weren’t thin or lithe, you didn’t have long legs or a toned stomach. You were built strong. Strong muscle underneath soft skin. Large thighs, big hips, an untoned stomach, a soft pouch of skin, wide shoulders and large arms. People missed judged you often, looked at your large shape and assumed you were weak or incapable of your job, but it was the exact opposite. While you couldn’t rival Steve or Bucky for strength (super soldier advantage and all), you were stronger than the others, than Natasha, than Clint, than Tony, than, Sam...perhaps not stronger than Thor although he liked to claim you’d give the Valkyries a run for their money.  

You were bent over rubbing water over your arms, stomach rolled and pouched, when you heard the heavy footsteps. You knew it was Bucky before you looked up, but you weren’t prepared for the embarrassment and self-consciousness at seeing him stood at the edge of the river. You watched his eyes trail down your body before darting away in an effort not to look at you.

“Sorry! I didn’t...I didn’t realise you were bathing, doll.” You found it ironic that he called you that, after all you weren’t anywhere near the size of a doll and nowhere near as delicate. 

You quickly made your way out of the river, covering yourself up quickly with your spare clothes, so fast they clung to the water still on your body. “It...it’s okay...Sorry...”

He looked up at you finally, confusion lacing his features at your apology, “What’re you sorry for?” 

“I...I’m not exactly the best sight...” It’s obvious you don’t look like girls in magazines or girls like Natasha. Sometimes you don’t care, sometimes you’d rather be you than try to force yourself to look like someone else, but you’re also aware that you aren’t most people’s image or ideal of beauty. You doubt you’re Bucky’s. 

“I beg to differ. You’re stunning, like a fucking painting.” You want to say you don’t believe him, but you do. Because he’s biting his lip and he’s looking at you like men don’t do and you think that perhaps you might not be most people’s ideal of beauty, but you might very well be Bucky’s. 

“Oh, really?” You raise an eyebrow at him, shifting your weight to one hip, hand pressed into the soft flesh there. 

“Fucking stunning, doll. Like a...a...”

“Lost for words?” It would be amusing, his inability to think of a word to describe your body, if it wasn’t so flattering, so heart stopping to know that he thinks you’re so beautiful he can’t even speak. 

“Absolutely speechless.”

“You’re not bad yourself, handsome.” You brush past him, back towards the camp you know he’s set up. You know he’s going follow close behind you and you find confidence filling you at the knowledge that he’s stunned by you, that you’re something else in his eyes.


End file.
